by Brianna Aisling

She and Jean always ended up in the kitchen at the same time. For her it was after a nightmare. For Jean, after sex.

The first time had been the night following the day she'd broken up with Bobby. She'd told Jean it was because there wasn't much there. And there wasn't. It was more comfortable, and she did like the ease, but there wasn't the spark that Jean and Scott had. Their eyes never met and caught. Her breath never seemed to stop like Jean's did when Scott looked at her a certain way. But that could have been because Bobby never looked at her like that.

She knew Jean thought it was because she thought she was in love with Logan.

She knew it was because Bobby liked to touch her. It hadn't been obvious at first. He'd been properly cautious, taking care when his hands slid under her skirt, but something had changed, and he'd begun to enjoy the shock of the draw. He began to hold on longer.

Rogue couldn't be a murderer. It was hard enough sometimes to keep that part of Logan separate from herself. She wouldn't let Bobby turn her into one, even if he didn't mean to.

They didn't talk often. Usually they sat quietly. Rogue would sip her hot chocolate, and Jean would make herself a sandwich. When they didn't talk, Rogue wondered what it was like for Jean, having sex with Scott. She wondered what she thought, how it felt, what Scott did. She wondered if Scott kept his glasses on, if he worried about hurting Jean, if sometimes, when he did have his glasses off, if maybe he wanted, just for an instant, to open his eyes. She wondered how that made him feel. She wondered if Jean knew. She wondered how that would make Jean feel.

She wondered if Jean thought of Logan sometimes.

She wondered if it wasn't Scott she was coming downstairs from.

Sometimes, she hoped it wasn't.


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